


Not About the Red Bull

by Deifire



Category: Baby Mama
Genre: F/F, Femslash, baby mama - Freeform, monster trucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deifire/pseuds/Deifire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kate's doing that hand-on-hip that means she's really pissed off, so Angie knows she's screwed up big time...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not About the Red Bull

Kate's doing that hand-on-hip that means she's really pissed off, so Angie knows she's screwed up big time. She's confused, though. She'd stepped out of the shower, put on some panties, got just a little distracted by the television, and decided to get herself a snack and watch the rest of the show.

She wasn't expecting Kate to come home early. Kate never comes home early, and while Angie can see auras, expecting her to be psychic about someone deciding to change her schedule is grossly unfair. And just because Kate thinks monster truck racing is stupid, it doesn't mean Angie can't watch it when she's not even home. It's a free country.

So why is Kate giving her the ice maiden glare of death?

The TV's not up all that loud. Angie's eating the organic chips and a couple of the rainforest-friendly chocolate bars from one of Kate's stores, so Kate can't even complain she's not being healthy and nutritionally balanced. She looks down. She hasn't accidentally dropped something and crushed it into the carpet this time. Hell, she's even remembered to put a coaster under...

Oh.

"Is this about the Red Bull?" she asks. "Look, I know you don't think it's good for the baby, but I swear, I read online that..."

"It's not," Kate says, in a tone that doesn't invite discussion about what contradictory evidence Angie may have picked up on the Internet. "Or rather it's a little less about you _drinking_ the Red Bull and a little more about you hurling it at my television because you didn't like the outcome of _Monster Jam_."

Shit. She didn't realize Kate had come through the door in time to see that.

"I'm sorry?" Angie offers. Kate just gives her that glare that always makes her feel about five years old, picks up the can from the floor, and heads for the kitchen.

"It was one time!" Angie yells after her, feeling the need to defend herself.

"And why did we have this conversation last week? Twice?"

"Three times! But that just now was total bullshit. In the final round, Grave Digger..."

"Angie, did Grave Digger throw a can of energy drink at my entertainment center?"

"Uh...I don't know."

Which is technically true. Angie hasn't been staying here for all that long, so it's not like she knows the entire life history of all Kate's expensive electronics. Still, she can't quite meet Kate's eyes when she's saying it. "At least it was mostly empty this time?" she offers, finally looking up.

To find Kate's not exactly meeting her eyes, either.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Angie says. Why is she always apologizing for things that aren't her fault? "But wearing a shirt in the living room was not on your giant list of house rules, so if that's what you're really mad about..."

"What?" Kate's clearly startled. "No! What makes you think that?"

"You were staring at my boobs," Angie points out.

"I was not," says Kate. She blushes when she's completely full of shit.

"Yeah, you were."

"No, I wasn't."

"It's okay if you were. They're nice boobs."

"Yes they are, but," Kate stops herself. "I mean I'm sure they are, but I wasn't looking. And I don't care. If you want to sit around naked all day watching trashy television while I'm at work, that's fine. I don't care. Really. Just don't destroy everything I own while you're doing it."

Sheesh. The last time a woman had gotten so defensive about getting caught looking at Angie's chest, they'd wound up having a mind-blowing make-out session in the back room of a club less than an hour later.

But this is, after all, _Kate_. Who's probably just uptight about this because she's uptight about everything. Who gets that pissed off about one can of Red Bull? That was mostly empty?

And besides, Angie doesn't feel that way about her at all.

***

Angie's pretty sure that "No monster trucks" is going to wind up on Kate's list of house rules right under "No using my laptop while taking a bath"--like Angie was going to be stupid enough to actually drop it in the tub--and is therefore completely unprepared when Kate gets home almost exactly in time for the next _Monster Jam_, grabs a bottle of vitamin-enhanced space water or whatever from the fridge, sits down next to her, and says, "Okay, explain how this works."

"What?" asks Angie.

"Monster trucks. Do they get points for going fast or how many cars they crush or what? And what's with the name Grave Digger, anyway? And why is that one shaped like a triceratops?"

Angie just stares at her. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No," Kate looks somewhat wounded. "I just want to understand why this is fun."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Angie realizes for the first time that she really does have a bit of expertise in something Kate doesn't know. That Kate actually seems to _want_ to know. And while she somewhat suspects Kate's just sitting there pretending to be interested so she can monitor Angie's beverage habits, she starts to explain. And by the end of thirty minutes, Kate's laughing and cheering right along with her.

Angie keeps forgetting, because she doesn't see it all that often, but Kate's actually kind of beautiful when she's happy. She'd probably be downright gorgeous if she ever really let herself go. You know, take the stick out of her ass, let her hair down, lose the glasses, just give into pleasure, like...

"What?" Kate says suddenly.

"I didn't say anything." Angie's _almost_ sure she hasn't been thinking out loud. And even if she has, she isn't going to admit it.

"You were staring at me."

"I was looking at your aura." Angie's always been the more accomplished liar. "Your energy gets all orange when you're having a good time."

"Orange?"

"Yeah. Kind of like the Home Depot."

"Oh. Is that good?"

"Yeah," says Angie. "Yeah, it's good."

And it is. But it's starting to feel weird.

***

"Kate do you like me?" Angie finally asks one day.

Kate's holding Angie in her arms, stroking her hair, rocking her just a little. "Yes, I like you," she replies, too quickly.

"No, I mean do you _really_ like me?"

Kate considers. "Yes, I really like you. I'm grateful to you for carrying my baby, and I'd even like to think of you as more than just my surrogate. I'd like to think of you as my friend."

_No,_ Angie wants to groan. _That wasn't what I meant. I don't want you to think of me as just a friend or as just your baby mama, but as somebody you might want to get horizontal with from time to time. Because, even if it is just the damn pregnancy hormones, that's how I've been thinking about you. And sometimes when you're nice to me like this, I wonder._

But even if she could say that to Kate...

"Oh god!" She suddenly pulls free from Kate's arms and makes it to the toilet just time for the morning sickness to strike again.

...the timing right now would be way, way off.

"I feel like I just barfed up my spleen," she says when it's over.

"I know," says Kate.

But there's no way Kate can know how this feels. "I'm think I'm gonna die," Angie tries to explain, swearing silently in her head to give up all caffeine and junk food and maybe even take one of Kate's insane vitamins from time-to-time if it'll make this stop and never happen again.

"It'll be okay," says Kate. "I mean, you've been through this before, right?"

Oh. Right.

Because even if she could admit that she's into Kate that way, and even if Kate was into her, there's still that whole web of deception thing.

She nods miserably, and stays with Kate on the bathroom floor for a few minutes longer before finally concluding that the nausea's passed.

Kate helps her back to bed and kisses her on the forehead. "I've got to get to work now," she says. "Take care, squirrel."

That last is to the baby, not Angie. Yeah, if her hormones weren't so screwed up from the pregnancy, Angie would have realized a long time ago that Kate's just feeling strictly maternal toward "her" kid. That wasn't the sort of cuddling you get from a woman planning on ripping your blouse open and taking you up against a wall as soon as you're feeling slightly less gross.

Stupid hormones.

Besides, eventually the baby will get born or the truth will come out, and Angie will never see Kate again, so it doesn't matter what happens.

***  
It doesn't matter what happens.

Therefore, it's not like one drunken night would be hugely wrong in the grand scheme of things.

Kate's hair is tangled and her glasses have been knocked askew. As much as they're still on her face, they're the only thing she's wearing. She moans and arches her back as Angie's fingers move inside her and Angie's thumb lightly strokes her clit.

Angie studies her face. Kate really is gorgeous when she's lost in bliss.

Half a can of Red Bull, a couple shots of Jagermeister. Serve repeatedly. It's a recipe she learned a while back from this bartender she was dating. It's always worked like a charm before, and when served to someone who has little experience with either high-energy beverages or alcohol, well...

By the time they get home, Kate's giggling and falling into Angie's arms. "Whew. I can't believe how drunk I am," she keeps saying. Angie's said that sentence in _that_ tone of voice while giving _that_ look to many men and not a few women, and everybody knows what it means. Still, Kate's not exactly normal people, so maybe she doesn't mean what everybody means when _she_ says it.

Standard operating procedure would be to kiss her and find out, but one of the annoying things about pregnancy is Angie can't use the excuse of being drunk herself if she gets it wrong and has to back off.

She's still trying to decide what to do when Kate kisses _her_.

The next thing they know, they're sprawled naked across Kate's bed having destroyed Angie's last good-fitting Target blouse and Kate's expensive designer bra-and-panties set in their hurry to get at each other bodies.

And here they are. It doesn't matter what happens, so Angie's going to make sure they enjoy themselves.

Fingers still moving, Angie lowers her head to Kate's breast and begins working one nipple with tongue and teeth while Kate tries to stifle a scream. She lavishes attention on the other next, then begins to move downward, leaving a trail of kisses on Kate's stomach on the way.

When she's almost there, Kate cries her name.

Angie freezes.

"I didn't say stop."

So Angie doesn't.

***

Kate's up, showered and dressed the next morning before Angie even opens her eyes. For someone who doesn't get out and party much, the woman is surprisingly hangover-proof.

"I've got an early morning meeting," Kate's saying as she fastens an earring. "And I may not be back until late."

Ah, the morning-after avoidance routine. Dammit. It wasn't supposed to matter what happened after last night, but Angie's realizing it very much does.

"I'll bring back take-out," Kate continues, then holds up a finger as Angie starts to say something. "And I promise to get something with red meat this time. If you let the TIVO get it, we can watch the trucks or one of your home video shows together when I get home."

Huh?

"Or we can just make an early night of it and go straight to bed."

What?

Kate's smiling at her.

"Only can we skip the part where you get me drunk first? Honestly, that stuff is disgusting. It tastes like black licorice and sour pennies, and I don't even want to know how many chemicals were in all that."

Kate smoothes her skirt with one well-manicured hand, gives herself one final glance in the mirror, and is out the door before her baby mama can say a word.


End file.
